Snippets
by LumosLyra
Summary: A collection of drabbles, plot bunnies, and little bits of intrigue that manage to escape my mind starring a myriad of the Harry Potter crew. Marked as complete but updated as inspirations strikes. DM/HG, PP/NL, DM/PP/HP.
1. La Vie Boheme (Various)

"I honestly can't believe I let you drag us to this restaurant." Pansy said, glancing over the menu with a frown on her face before staring disdainfully at her water. The usually innocuous liquid was presented in a plastic glass, likely drawn from the tap, and had a lemon wedge floating in it. While she had certainly mellowed out in recent years, there was nothing quite like a bottle of sparkling water chilled to the perfect temperature to tantalize the tastebuds.

"This was the only place that could accommodate all thirteen of us on such short notice." Hermione commented, ignoring Pansy's petulant huff. "And besides, Daphne wanted something vegan… our options were a bit limited"

Draco touched his finger to Hermione's menu, the silver band of his signet ring flashing in the too bright light reflecting off of the myriad of white surfaces in the minimalist restaurant. His other hand rested against her back, idly tracing the sequence of runes with which she was so familiar. "The miso soup is excellent." He remarked.

"I'm actually thinking about the seaweed salad." She muttered, slipping her hand into his and tucking them both under the table to rest against her thigh.

"You two have been here before?" Pansy questioned, taking a tentative sip of her sure-to-be-disgusting water. She wasn't disappointed, it left a lot to be desired.

"We try new restaurants every Thursday." Hermione remarked, her eyes still skimming over the menu.

Pansy pursed her lips, eyeing the couple next to her as she pushed the offensive liquid as far away as she could get until it was nearly touching Harry's own glass of water. "But you've been back together for nearly two years."

With his signature smirk, Draco confirmed, "We are fully aware of the length of our relationship, Pansy. London has a plethora restaurants but we've also been to several on the continent."

"Oh, just rub it in, will you?" Pansy groaned, her hand swiping across the space in front of her as though it were passing over a marquee. "Filthy rich heir courts brightest witch of the age by using possibly illegal portkeys just to have dinner."

"There was nothing illegal. I just happened to join Draco on a few business trips for the company." Hermione said with a smile that said she wasn't telling the entire truth while Draco squeezed her hand under the table.

Pansy shot them both a scowl and studied her menu with a frown.

Ron leaned over towards Harry, looking at the menu just as skeptically as Pansy. He lowered his voice so only the raven-haired wizard could hear as he lifted the menu to cover his mouth to be extra certain no one could hear him as he asked the all-important questions, "What are tofu dogs?"

Harry's bright emerald eyes widened from behind his black-rimmed glasses as he skimmed the menu. "I'm more concerned about the meatless balls…"

"Oh bollocks. That's a thing?" Ron hissed in a whispered exclamation.

Harry nodded, pointing to the entrée in question while Ron released a not-so-subtle groan.

"Oi! Daph." Ron called out, getting the blonde bombshell's attention from where she was seated down the long table near Tracey Davis, Luna Lovegood, and Theodore Nott.

With her loose, honey toned waves bouncing around her shoulders, she turned and looked at the redheaded wizard. "Yes, Ronald?"

"What will I like?" He asked, having heard of exactly one item on the menu, though why they called them _fries_ and not _chips,_ he'd never know.

With a petulant roll of her eyes, she glanced down at the menu for just a moment trying to choose something to his tastes. That honestly left out most of the menu so the choice wasn't particularly difficult. "Get a soy burger and some fries."

He narrowed his eyes, looking at a non-moving photograph something that looked suspiciously like a hamburger. He liked those, but whatever _soy_ was made him think he was about to eat something rubbery and entirely too chewy. "What is that?"

"Trust me," was all the witch said before turning back to her conversation.

The thirteen friends had come out on a very rainy and dismal evening to celebrate the twenty fifth birthday of Daphne Greengrass who was adamant that she didn't want a party but of course changed her mind at the last moment and decided everyone should go out to dinner. They had squeezed into a local vegan joint at the last minute which happened to have a cancellation, though Ginevra may have used a mild and very covert _Suggestion Spell_ in order to get their party seated more quickly.

They were positioned around several small tables which had been pushed together to form one long table. Daphne sat at the head of the table, in the position of honor with Theodore Nott to her left and Tracey Davis to her right. Next to Theodore was Luna Lovegood followed by Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and then finally Neville Longbottom. Across from Neville, Draco Malfoy sat next to Hermione Granger. Between Hermione and Tracey were Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Lavender Brown.

The server arrived and began making her away around the table, taking everyone's order. She paused next to Daphne and confirmed the order, "So, that's five miso soups, four seaweed salads, three soy burger dinners, two tofu dog platters, and one pasta with meatless balls."

Blaise swallowed thickly, making an exaggerated, disgusted noise. "Eww."

Lavender smacked the dark, Italian wizard on the arm. "Shush. It tastes the same." She chided in a low, threatening tone in an effort to limit the offense he might cause with the server in such close proximity.

"If you close your eyes, maybe." Blaise muttered under his breath.

"Oh, and thirteen orders of fries." The server said, making a note on the pad in her hand. "Is that it here?"

"Wine and beer, please." Daphne added. "A few bottles of reds, whites, and a selection of your house lagers, ales, and stouts. I think that should tide us over for a bit."

When the drinks were poured and everyone held a glass of something, Theo rose from his seat at the table, smiling fondly on the honeyed blonde at his side. "If someone should make a toast on this gorgeous girl's birthday, it's the fiancée, am I right?"

Everyone chuckled as Theo shot a pointed look towards Ron whose ears turned pink as he stood up, holding a glass of what appeared to be a very dark beer. Ron smiled a goofy grin towards the blonde witch at the head of the table while Theo took his seat with a cheeky smirk on his lips. "Everyone knows I'm shite with words, but I honestly don't know how I got so lucky to have landed the girl of my dreams."

An exaggerated cough that sounded altogether too much like "drunk closet sex" erputed from deep within Blaise's throat, gaining him yet another smack on the arm from Lavender who chided him to behave. As the group erupted into laughter at the exchange, Ron turned a shade of red a bit closer to that of his hair.

"Give a bloke a break!" He groaned, running a hand through his crimson locks. Daphne smiled at him encouragingly as she swirled a dark red wine around the bell of the glass. "Daph, I love you more than life itself and I hope to be around to help you celebrate your birthdays for a very, very long time."

Ron raised his glass in a toast before walking around the table to stand next to the woman in question, his muscled arm coming to rest around her delicate shoulders. "To the future Mrs. Daphne Weasley! Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Glasses clinked, friends cheered, and sips of several different alcoholic beverages were taken as the group celebrated their friend. Ron pressed a kiss to Daphne's cheek before returning to his seat between Harry and Neville where they soon launched into a discussion along with Draco on the latest quidditch game where the Montrose Magpies played the Appleby Arrows.


	2. Insomnia (DMHG)

He moved the brush over the canvas in wide strokes, creating large swathes of blue to mingle and meld with the already present oranges and yellows. Blending the colors together, he created a perfect display of the rising sun as he saw it through the window of the balcony on which he sat. A cigarette sat burning in a tray nearby, his chest was bare, and the sheet he was wrapped in covered more of the floor than it did his body, though no one would be able to see him anyway.

They lived in the middle of fucking nowhere, after all.

Taking a drag from the cigarette, he flicked the ash to the ground and blended several colors on his palate to create the shade of indigo needed to finish off the sky before he dotted it with the fading stars which could still be seen at sunrise.

A pair of arms encircled his torso, fingers dragging lightly down one of the many scars on his chest in a gentle, caressing motion. The scar being traced was one of several old injuries from his days at school, though surprisingly, it wasn't inflicted by his own father. One of the few which were not.

A set of soft lips caressed the back of his neck as he carefully blended the pigments together on the canvas weaving together the colors needed to capture a perfect dawn morning as best he knew how.

"I thought you had to work today?" the familiar feminine voice crooned before capturing the lobe of his ear between her perfect, straight, white teeth.

He grunted, leaning over to the ashtray to knock a bit more ash from the tip of his cigarette before taking another drag. "They don't give a fuck if I show up or not. They never have and they won't until the inevitable happens."

He could tell she was frowning behind him by the way her teasing caresses stopped and her posture drooped. She leaned against him, bare breasts pressed into his back and set her chin atop his shoulder, a few wild curls brushing against his skin causing him to shiver despite the relatively warm spring air. "When does he retire?"

The absolute last thing he wanted to talk about was his father. "Not now." He warned, with a growl stubbing out the cigarette and flicking it haphazardly into the tray before putting his brush back against the canvas.

With a resigned sigh, she pressed a tender kiss to the curve of his neck, knowing better than to push him at this time of the morning, especially about an already nearly taboo topic such as his father. As he exhaled the last of the smoke from his lungs, she could smell the whiskey mixed with the harsh smell of his cigarette and her suspicions were confirmed.

He may have come to bed with her in the evening, but he was up again after she fell asleep and he was likely still drunk. While sometimes practiced his art while sober, it was a much more common occurrence when he was intoxicated. The cigarettes too.

Pressing another kiss to the back of his neck, she pulled back from him, allowing him to mope and brood in peace. There was practically nothing she could do for him when he got like this. It was simply something he needed to ride out until the alcohol burned out of his system and he either sought her out or fell asleep on his own.

Apart from her warm heat withdrawing from his slightly chilled body, the only reason he knew she had indeed wandered off was the whisper of her silk knickers against her skin growing fainter.

Given that the sun was still just peeking over the horizon, he suspected she slipped beneath the duvet and back into their bed to resume her slumber. Sleep was something to be coveted and something he desperately wanted, but there were days when it simply wouldn't come. Like today.

He blended several shades together until he found the iridescent gray he was looking for and began to dot the painted sky with tiny stars until they formed the familiar constellation which shared his namesake. After that, he set his brush to the side and stared at the painting for several moments before standing up from the small, wooden stool to lean over the balcony.

Resting his forearms against the cool stone, he stared out across the grounds of their estate. The gardens were to his right, having been meticulously laid out by a very dear friend. The flower gardens were just beginning to come into bloom, though several magical varieties had already shown their colors over the past several weeks.

Of those he could make out in the early dawn, tiny sprigs of dittany were interspersed with the brilliant purple blooms of aconite while mounds of brilliant yellow snakeweed bloomed nearby. The valerian blossomed near the reclusive belladonna while the bobotubers were sequestered in their own corner of one of the gardens near the shrivelfigs. It was truly a work of art.

Raking his fingers through his shock of blonde hair, he tugged at the sheet, keeping it firmly around his waist as he half-walked and half-stumbled back into the bedroom. He leaned against one of the large, mahogany posts of their bed and gazed upon the form of his wife who had fallen back to sleep.

Chocolate colored curls were fanned out around her head in some sort of beautiful, wild halo as though she were a spirit of the earth. The golden hue of her skin contrasted pleasantly with the stark whiteness of their bedding. Her limbs were akimbo as though she had landed that way by mere chance while her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He could just make out the dusky rose of her nipples from where they peaked out from beneath the duvet.

Releasing the sheet, he slipped beneath the duvet and wrapped himself around his wife, finding perfection in the way she fit against him as though she were made for him and him alone. She stirred in her sleep as his hands settled onto her abdomen while one of her legs slipped back between his. She pressed herself back against him and he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck. The quiet murmur she hummed told him she wasn't quite as asleep as she appeared to be.

Burying his face against the smooth skin of her neck where he could just catch the scent of her curls, he apologized. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, love."

"I know you're under a lot of pressure, Draco." She whispered, her voice rough with sleep, in the quiet of the early morning as one her hands shifted to trace gentle patterns along his forearm in the shape of runes.

"That doesn't excuse my behavior." He countered, drawing his lips along the curve of her neck.

"No, but I forgive you." She said, humming a soft, pleasurable sound as his lips nuzzled against her sensitive flesh.

One of his hands slid up her torso, a single fingernail dragging along her skin before he cupped one of her breasts in his hand. "I'm still not going into work." He said, rolling her pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a moan from the witch in his arms.

"It's only for two more weeks." She muttered, arching her back. "The you'll have the company to yourself."

While his thumb and forefinger continued to roll and tweak the sensitive nub, his other hand drifted down her abdomen with the tips of his fingers just fluttering over her flesh before dipping just below the waistband of her silk knickers. "Two more weeks, my precious wife and I will be free."

Slipping her leg from between his, she shifted it so it fell over both of his legs, spreading herself wide for his wandering fingers. She felt his predatory grin at the back of her neck just before his fingers dipped into her folds, just brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex.

"Gods, Draco," she keened as he slipped a finger within her silken heat, his thumb tracing featherlight circles around her clit, his other hand coming to rest just at the base on her neck, keeping her pressed tightly against his chest.

"I need you, Hermione." He whispered against her neck, slipping another finger into her as he started a gentle rhythm, dragging the tips of his fingers against her walls as they curled within her, knowing she would soon be beginning for release.

The feel of his teeth digging into the flesh of her shoulder coupled with the sensations his fingers were eliciting as they gently pressed against her collar and dove and dipped within her was nearly too much to bear. "I'm yours." She managed in a shaky breath as he brought her just to the edge.

"Tell me, sweet wife." He commanded gently, holding her just on the cusp of her orgasm, laving and nipping at the sensitive flesh of her neck.

She whined and whimpered against his ministrations, her hips moving against his fingers, imploring them to go deeper, to touch her in just the right way, to bring her over the edge and into the oblivion she very nearly craved. He did not give in, opting to continue to tease her. She mumbled something incoherently.

He stopped all together, holding his fingers still inside of her while two fingers pinched one of her overstimulated nipples between his fingers and she whimpered much loudly than before. "I need to hear you say it, love."

"Fuck, Draco." She whined, "If you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to banish you to your study for a week."

He chuckled, low and dark. "You wouldn't dare, Hermione." He said as he withdrew his fingers from her throbbing cunt, pressing them against her lips.

"I would." She challenged just before her tongue darted out to taste herself and he slipped his fingers into her mouth as he positioned himself over her. She lapped at and suckled his fingers, moaning at the taste of her arousal.

Grasping his erection, he positioned himself at her entrance, slipping just the head between her folders causing her to whimper once more as he slowly withdrew his fingers from her mouth. "You know what happens to cheeky witches, my sweet."

She pushed her hips against him, tempting him to slip further into her, though he made no move to do so. How he relished teasing her like this when he knew she was desperate for release. Though he would never deny her, he enjoyed watching her fall apart beneath him with such intensity that words she would never utter outside of their bedroom fell from her lips.

"Please", she moaned as his fingers strayed to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

"You beg so prettily, my sweet wife." He praised, slipping into her tight, burning channel in one swift motion before lifting one of her legs to rest against his shoulder. He pressed kisses down her ankle, nipping at the flesh of her calf as he slowly began to rock his hips.

The beautiful witch beneath him moaned and keened as he brought her once again to the edge, words spilling over her lips as she fisted the sheets in her hands. One of his hands snaked into her hair, grasping and tugging at her curls and soon she was falling over the edge as she drove himself into her. He felt every pulse, tremble, and contraction of her walls as he sent his witch into oblivion as waves of pleasure wracked her body. There was nothing sweeter than hearing the sound of his name on her lips as she came undone.

A few strokes later, he thrust into her for a final time, releasing his seed within her with a groan of pleasure. He stayed inside of her for a moment, his tired body resting against her small frame as her hands came up to stroke his back with tender caresses. She drew swirls, runes, and words of adoration across the flesh of his back, lulling him to sleep with gentle words and sweet, sensual kisses against the corner of his mouth, the curve of his cheek, and the line of his jaw.

As he nuzzled against his wife, still half-drunk from the alcohol he had consumed, he silently thanked the gods for the woman in his arms. "Please don't leave me." He whispered against her curls, revealing one of his deepest fears in a rare moment of vulnerability.

His witch ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him. "Never, my love. We're bound to one another, remember?"

He nodded against her in a sleepy haze, feeling her contentment and love as she pushed her emotions towards him through their bond. "I love you." He murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you."

Pressing her lips against his forehead, she continued her gentle caresses, trailing her fingertips along his spine. "I'm not going anywhere, Draco." She reassured him. "I love you."

With his witch in his arms, and thoroughly sated, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in weeks.


	3. Movie Night (DMHG)

"I can't believe you've never seen this before!" Hermione exclaimed as she passed the large bowl of heavily buttered popcorn across the gap between the sofa and a large, leather chair to Pansy. Though it almost escaped her grasp, Pansy managed to keep ahold of the bowl and not fall over the arm of the chair. Luckily, Neville had her firmly grasped around the waist ensuring that the witch wouldn't fall face first into the worn wooden floors.

"Granger." Pansy admonished before popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth while Neville dug his hand into the bowl. "I've seen a grand total of four muggle movies."

Hermione gestured at the screen a bit too enthusiastically as the opening credits played. "But still, this is an absolute classic."

"You said that about the last movie we watched, 'Mione." Harry tossed back a few chocolate-covered raisins before Theo stole the box from him with a smirk.

"Don't you even pretend you didn't sob like a baby when Shelby died at the end of _Steel Magnolias, _Harry James Potter." Hermione warned playfully with a finger pointed in his direction. He paid her little attention as he stole his chocolate-covered raisins back from Theo, bribing the brunette with a peck to the cheek.

"No comment" was all Harry said, though Theo was nodding emphatically, his arm draped casually around the wizard's shoulders.

"How do you suppose they got the telly to work with all of the magic in the air?" mused Ron from the other large, leather armchair in the common room. He wasn't even expecting the soft throw pillow as it landed with a thud against his head.

"You sound like Dad. Hush." Ginny chided, getting ready to chunk another pillow at her brother if he decided to offer a retort. He wasn't even given the chance before Hermione was admonishing the group to be quiet.

"SHH!" Hermione shushed the group loudly before practically burrowing down into her blanket and turning her eyes to the screen. She was completely wrapped in a large, red and gold fleece with only her face peeking out from underneath the blanket. "It's starting."

As the credits finished, the title screen was revealed as _The Wizard of Oz_. The group was entranced by the movements on the screen as Dorothy fought to rescue her dog Toto before a tornado hit, sending her hurdling towards Oz. There were gasps of "ooh" and "ah" as young woman stepped out of the house, in color no less, and was promptly proclaimed a witch.

Had anyone looked closely at the witch cocooned in her blanket, they would have seen her mouthing along to the words.

_Are you a good witch? Or a bad witch?_

_I'm not a witch at all. I'm Dorothy Gale, from Kansas._

"Who is so obviously a muggle." Pansy muttered, dipping her hand once more in the bowl of butter popcorn. Plaits and a gingham dress? No self-respecting witch would be caught dead dressing like that, even in the era of Grindlewald.

_Oh. Well is that a witch?"_

"She can't possibly mean the…" Pansy was about ready to toss her popcorn at the screen.

_Who? Toto? Toto's my dog!_

"…oh damnit," grumbled the witch before popping another piece of popcorn in her mouth. Neville just chuckled at her reactions and ran his fingertips over her arm, though he would easily have admitted to having the same ones had he been paying attention to the movie on the screen rather than the witch on his lap.

As Dorothy Gale skipped down the yellow brick road, the door to their dormitory swung open and everyone's heads turned to see which of their peers had entered with the exception of Hermione who was still cocooned in her blankets, thoroughly entranced by the screen, mouthing along to the words.

"Hey, mate." Theo said, greeting his oldest friend, while Harry reached over and grabbed the remote from Hermione, pausing the movie, despite the witch's protests.

Draco returned Theo's greeting with a nod, tugging at the Windsor knot of his tie to loosen it before shedding his robes, leaving him in trousers, a white oxford, and a gray vest. "Who picked this time?" He asked, motioning towards the screen.

"Hermione did. She was the winner of Stone-Parchment-Shears."

"I swear she cheats." Ron muttered.

"It's not my fault you're predictable, Ronald." She chided, gently. "If you had any understanding of Arithmancy, you'd know there's a way to discern the patterns in that silly's children's game."

Draco shrugged his shoulders, toeing out of his shoes and leaving them near the door with several other pairs. "She's not wrong, Weasley."

"Will you all stop your nattering?" Pansy grumbled. "I would like to finish this before I expire, please."

Draco surveyed the common area, seeing the majority of the seating areas were occupied. Neville and Pansy were taking up the large leather armchair while Ginny sat in the wingback near the hearth. Weasley was sprawled out in the other leather arm chair while Theo and Harry were cuddled up on one end of the couch, leaving the only seat near…

"Come on, Malfoy. I don't bite." Hermione said, scooting closer to the arm of the sofa, pulling the blanket down from over her head to rest on her shoulders, releasing a cascade of mahogany curls.

Pansy explained what had happened so far in the movie as Draco awkwardly settled himself on the couch with one arm flung over the back behind Hermione. He was in such close proximity he could smell a faint, lingering scent of her perfume. It was feminine and delicate, not at all what he expected based on what he knew about the muggleborn witch. He spent more time covertly watching her reactions to the movie than paying attention to all of the singing and dancing happening on the screen.

He'd always been intrigued by the witch, even when he was teasing and bullying her in prior years as was expected of him by his parents. His father had essentially told him to make the witch's life hell – she was beneath them and needed to be shown her true place. He hurled in the insults, called her horrible names and did so with a venom behind them, though it was more out of fear for his own father than his disdain for the witch in question.

As best he could determine, his views on blood purity and the old ways had starting changing as early as third year. He was being a slimy, snarky git and she'd beat that right out of him with surprisingly powerful right hook. It was in that moment he found a quiet respect for the witch.

His feelings for her had morphed from there, though he wasn't entirely certain exactly what he thought of her. There was always a pull to be close to her and he found himself sitting near, but not next to her in their classes. They had managed to even work amiably on a potions project this term.

With McGonagall's decision to house all of the eighth years together in a single dormitory, their friend groups had slowly come intertwined and he found himself in contact with her more and more. Sometimes, he thought he caught a blush on her cheeks before she quickly turned away from him. He chalked it up to his imagination and poor lighting.

When they had first started back at Hogwarts, she was barely a shell of her former self. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and she was little more than skin and bones. She looked haggard and worn, though her appearance slowly changed over time. She had regained some of her figure, though there were still dark circles beneath her eyes that intrigued him. He suspected she struggled to sleep, despite the safety of the castle. With everything they had been through over the past year or more, it was of little surprise.

By the end of the movie, the witch had wedged herself up under the crook of his arm, her head resting against his shoulder while his arm had come down around her shoulders. He wasn't entirely certain who had made the first move, but there was something that felt so intensely perfect about having her so near. It was as though she were made for him.

He wasn't certain what made him do it, but he traced the rune which signified power, survival, and endurance down the curve of her arm.


	4. Cultivation (PPNL)

She hadn't meant to get herself caught by the Searing Tanglevine which was slowly constricting and burning the flesh of her right forearm, but she really needed one of its ruby-red blossoms for a project in potions. She thought she had put it under the appropriate stasis and halting spells, but she had never been all that good at charms – other aspects of magic she was a complete whiz at, but proficiency in charms had always eluded her for some reason or another. It was that stupid mistake that left her in greenhouse six at the mercy of a stupid sodding plant. Pansy had tried setting it on fire, blasting it into oblivion, and soaking it with water, but nothing seemed to work on the impenetrable plant, so she did the last thing she knew to do. She screamed at the top of her lungs and sent up red sparks praying to Morgana that someone else was anywhere near the greenhouses at this time of night.

"You would think with a name like Pansy you would be marginally better at herbology," called a voice from the doorway of the greenhouse in a deep, teasing baritone. He was cloaked in the shadows but she could tell he was tall and lean as he leaned against the doorway of the greenhouse in such a nonchalant way it gave Draco a run for his money.

"Very funny," she sneered, trying once more to yank herself away from the vine as it continued to constrict and sear her flesh. "Did you come here to gloat or to help?" she asked with a whimper as the vine crept further up her forearm, leaving a red welt in its wake. It probably wasn't entirely smart to be snarling and sniping with your possible savior, he did have the upper hand, after all and the last thing Pansy needed was for the wizard to turn tail simply because she was a Slytherin.

The person in the doorway shrugged and stepped into the greenhouse, pulling the wand from the pocket in his trousers muttering a simple Lumos which illuminated his face. Locks of dark brown hair brushed the curve of his brows, his lips twisted into an amused expression.

"Longbottom?" she exclaimed, the usually bumbling wizard the last person she expected to see. Herbology was the one subject in which he could rarely be bested, so it wasn't entire out of the question that he was near the green houses so late in the evening, but he always seemed to be so incompetent in other forms of magic that it made Pansy feel rather hopeless.

"Sweet Circe, I'm dead," she muttered beneath her breath. Unfortunately for her, she hadn't whispered it quiet quietly enough which elicited a touch of mocking laughter from the Gryffindor in the doorway. His response sent a chill through her spine. The confidence he was displaying seemed completely out of character and she had no idea how to react to this new demeanor.

"You're at my mercy, Parkinson. I suggest you remember that before you think to insult me." His tone was colder than anything Pansy thought he would've been able to muster, though he continued to step closer. She missed the mischievous glint in his eyes when the vine curved further up her forearm, just past her elbow. She tugged against the vine again, causing it to release another burst of heat, leaving yet another red welt along her forearm.

"You murder one snake and you start thinking you're tough shit. Get this fucking thing off of me." Her voice was close to a whine, but she didn't care. She just wanted to be out of the clutches of this stupid plant. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists at her side as it constricted further even as the wizard across the greenhouse smirked.

"First lesson. When at the mercy of another person, the use of manners is paramount to avoiding further… punishment." He lingered over the final word as though he were caressing it as he flicked his eyes over the struggling witch before him.

Pansy grit her teeth, though she wasn't sure if it was due to pain or irritation at the way he was speaking of lessons and punishments. Her brain was so muddled with the burning sensation along her arm and as she desperately wanted to get as far away from this plant as possible, Pansy decided to play his game. This wasn't the time for cunning or manipulation – she needed help.

"Please, Longbottom. If you know how to stop it, just do it. It hurts." She dropped her eyes to the ground, her lashes fluttering, obscuring her vision as the vine further constricted around her arm.

"Much better," he remarked, crossing the greenhouse with a much quicker stride.

"Searing Tanglevine," he said in a tone resembling that of Professor Sprout giving one of her lectures. "Nocturnal. Red-blossoms with restorative properties, though the leaves are poisonous. Causes a burning sensation when touched. Semi-sentient. Grows best in darkness as light, natural or conjured, will cause it to recoil and eventually die."

With that he swept his wand, still illuminated with the gentle light of the lumos spell, across her forearm, letting the light wash over the vine. When it did, the vine pulled back from Pansy's arm, leaving a spiral of raised and inflamed welts where it had been searing her flesh. Neville grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the vine, casting a cooling charm across the affected area causing Pansy to visibly shudder and release a soft moan at the relief.

Neville tenderly trailed his fingertips across the sensitive, seared flesh experimentally and saw her shoulders tighten and release at the sensation, chest heaving with unsteady breaths.

"Burn cream should sort this out." With a flick of his wand and a whispered incantation, a small glass jar of the blue tinted cream flew into his hand.

"May I?" he asked, as he unscrewed the lid, all traces of the taunting, calculating man disappearing only to be replaced by a look Pansy was certain she misinterpreted for concern.

Pansy nodded, squeaking out a "yes" in a voice that sounded nothing like her own. Dipping his fingers into the cream, he gingerly pressed his fingers to the blistered flesh, massaging the burn cream into her wounds with the utmost care.

Her eyelids fluttered as the intensity of the burning sensation weakened. "Thank you," she whispered as his fingers reverently traced just to the side of the spiral around her arm being careful not to disturb layer of cream over her burns. No one had ever touched the way he did in this moment; it was as though she were something utterly precious to him.

Brushing his lips across the back of her hand, just below where the tanglevine had left it's first welt, he smiled at her. Pansy felt her breath catch in her throat at his unexpected display of chivalry.

"Anytime." He offered as he released her hand and exited the greenhouse, leaving a very confused and mildly aroused Pansy in his wake.

Collapsing in a heap on the floor of greenhouse six, Pansy examined her memory of their interaction moments before as she fought to catch her breath. When he'd first walked into the greenhouse, she had been all but certain he would have walked right back out, leaving her at the mercy of the plant which ensnared her. Though, after a cryptic exchange of words, he'd freed her and even tended to her wounds.

Pansy glanced down at her arm. The red spirals were still covered by the blue paste, though it was slowly fading to a lavender as it removed the inflammation and sting from the burns.

The way he had touched her arm and tended to her wounds had been done with the utmost care as though he was afraid of hurting her. And then, oh Circe, he had pulled out whatever pureblood manners he had learned from that old bat of a grandmother he had and acted like a complete gentleman before leaving her behind in the greenhouse.

She didn't know what to make of it.

Pansy remained on the floor of the greenhouse for another few minutes, mulling things over before she finally stood and began to gather her things. Several perfect, red blossoms were set next to her schoolbag. She knew they must have come from Longbottom but when he cut them from the plant, she didn't know. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Pansy carefully tucked the blossoms into a small glass jar and made her way back to the castle.


	5. Something Beautiful (HPDMPP)

_Perhaps no flower (not excepting even the queenly rose) claims to be so universal a favorite, as the viola tricolor; none currently has been honored with so rich a variety of names, at once expressive of grace, delicacy and tenderness._

-Dorothea Lynde Dix

Pansy Parkinson wasn't some delicate little flower like her name suggested. Though she wasn't bright nor soft as her namesake suggested, she was vibrant and feminine in her own way. She couldn't quite say that she wasn't colorful as she had chosen to adorn her body in ink despite her preference for darker hues. A cascade of her namesake flowers flowed over one shoulder while a constellation of tiny stars in varying hues wrapped around her torso intermingling with the flowers along her back and a garter of protective runes wrapped around one of her thighs. She wasn't only addicted to the color and the symbolism of the ink infused into her skin but to the sting created as it was injected.

The differences between the other girls in her year and herself were apparent from the moment she stepped onto the platform to attend Hogwarts. The other girls were all ringlets and ribbons and frilly frocks, flitting about like butterflies in a flower garden – but not Pansy. Her dark hair was cut in a severe bob which she retained even into adult hood, the line just brushing her shoulders and though her lips were not yet adorned in her signature crimson, they might as well have been with how often she'd had to bite her bottom lip to keep her thoughts to herself. While her mother wouldn't quite let her wear the high, patent leather pumps she desperately wanted, she wore a modest heel and a set of unadorned black robes in a flattering cut.

Pansy was a chameleon when she had to be, having made friends with the vapid girls in her yea. She even put on her best smile and feminine skirts to convince everyone she and Draco had been in a relationship for much of their time at school, something they continued to this day. She could wear the pinks and the laces but she craved the darks and the leathers. Her mother ached for another pureblood princess whom she could dress in those frilly frocks her peers seemed to love despite the fact that Pansy's two older sisters were barely of age, married, and fully out in pureblood society by the time she entered Hogwarts.

Well, pureblood society and society functions could get fucked. Pansy wanted none of that. One charity gala per year was her limit and she made certain she was never far from a tray of champagne when she attended on Draco's arm.

The witch knew exactly who she was, where she was going, and what she wanted from life – even from the tender age of the eleven. She was the embodiment of her house – ambitious, cunning, skeptical, and she would do what it would take to achieve her dreams.

Even if that meant playing nice.

Even if that meant wearing those awful pastel dress robes the Yule ball.

Even if that meant joining the Inquisitorial Squad when she loathed that fat, pink toad.

Even if that meant trying to turn over Potter to the Dark Lord.

When the battle was over, Pansy found him and attempted to explain why she'd spoken up when no one else had. She wouldn't apologize for her actions but he needed to know exactly why she did what she did. He almost looked through her as she attempted to explain she only wanted to spare the lives of those who were currently laying too still beneath crisp, white sheets - dead at the hands of the Dark Lord and his army of Death Eaters and dark creatures. Casualties of this war they had all been too young to fight. He'd nodded solemnly as she spoke looking more careworn than she'd ever seen him. His confidence seemed to have been shattered and he had a haunted look around his eyes. She honestly didn't know whether to comfort him or berate him for not turning himself over sooner. Ultimately, the latter wouldn't help and he did manage to save them all when the Dark Lord was vanquished. She settled for laying a hand on his bicep and giving it a gentle squeeze before retreating to assist in whatever way she could.

_I know why you did what you did. Thank you for saving us. I forgive you_.

Their second encounter happened nearly ten years after the end of the war in a place she was not expecting to see him. At all. Ever. Especially not when her torso was a mural of pink welts, purple bruises, and red handprints while she was bound with her arms above her head, barely balancing on legs separated by a wide spreader bar. Oh, she hated the feeling of a stubbed toe, a calf-cramp, and the excessive pain of the _Cruciatus_ as much as the next witch, but there was something serene to be found in the white-hot line left by a cane, the lick of the whip as it curved around her breast, or a well-placed stinging jinx.

Her body quivered with need and the blonde man currently circling her was perfectly poised to give her exactly that. He knew every inch of her body intimately. He knew exactly where and when to strike, driving her higher and higher towards her inevitable peak.

Giving up control was not easy for Pansy but in order to have her needs met, it was necessary. Placing that control in the hands of her best friend made it easier. Theirs was an arrangement that helped meet both of their needs. It kept his name out of the paper because honestly how many articles could the Prophet write about his routine, weekly dinners with his long-time girlfriend (as absurd as _that_ was – they'd never been more than friends) and they both received some measure of sexual satisfaction.

When Pansy forced her eyes to open upon command, she'd met his. Bright green shone in a sea of muddled colors.

Those green eyes remained her tether to the world as the scene ended and she was released, carted off stage in a pair of strong arms to be held, hydrated, and healed. When she re-emerged a half hour later, thoroughly sated, her stride was confident as she moved about the floor on her too-high heels before she was almost immediately cornered by Potter.

To be honest, he looked good. His hair was longer, tied back in a messy bun and his face bore a five o'clock shadow. His stance was the same as ever – poised on edge as if he would need to draw his wand at a moment's notice, but he was dressed well in dark trousers and a fitted oxford with the sleeves rolled back to display his forearms. Circe, he looked like he needed to relax and there was something akin to the look a caged animal has about them in those green eyes.

"Cat got your tongue, Potter?"

A glass of water was pressed into her hand as she felt a presence at her back. She didn't have to turn around to know Draco was standing behind her. She knew him simply by the feel his hands resting on her shoulders and the scent of his cologne if she hadn't heard the teasing lilt of his voice, playfully mocking the man before her.

If it was possible for Harry to stand any taller, he did so the moment Draco appeared. Shoulders rolled back, posture straightened, and his gaze hardened. It made Pansy smirk to see the two of them still dancing around each other even after all this time. She could feel Draco's erection pressing into her backside and she knew it wasn't because of the tight black skirt she was wearing nor the fact that their scene went exceptionally well earlier in the evening.

"I wanted a word with Parkinson."

A rumble of laughter echoed behind her as Draco squeezed her shoulders and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "No one comes here just for a word."

Pansy rolled her eyes and took a sip of the water before abandoning the glass on a nearby table. She had no patience for Draco being a tease and Potter looked like he was about to explode if he didn't say whatever it was he needed to say. Clearly, he didn't want to say whatever it was in front of Draco. She had an idea of what he might ask her, but she wasn't about to put the words in his mouth.

"Draco," she called, tilting her head upwards to meet his eyes, "I'll find you later, yeah?"

The bastard smirked. "Of course, pet."

She had ahold of his collar before she knew what she was doing and pulled the much taller man down to her height leaving a stunned Harry Potter behind her. Her violet eyes darkened and her brow crinkled, dangerously. "If you want a pet, Draco Malfoy, go and find Luna. But I am not, and never will be, your _pet._" She'd seen the witch wearing a tail and little else earlier and honestly Rolf looked a bit overwhelmed with his creature-obsessed wife, despite his own passion for the subject.

Draco merely leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead, the smirk still adorning his lips. "Fine, fine. Come find me in a bit." The prat was always too in control to be ruffled by her, which of course made for a great scene, but was irritating otherwise.

Pansy released him, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt with her hands before turning back towards Potter, leaving Draco to saunter away. She clasped her hands in front of him, waiting for him to speak, but he seemed to be struggling with his words as other members of their private little world moved around them, though her eyes didn't miss how his followed the blonde walking away behind them.

"I just… well…" He started to rub the back of his neck with a lifted hand. "Are you trying to atone for something?" The words rushed out so fast she almost didn't understand what he said. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were looking anywhere but at her.

_Oh._

Fuck. How did she even begin to explain to Potter in simple terms that she liked pain that accompanied the marks left on her body? It had taken her a while to come to terms with the fact that she liked it just a little too much when Hermione Granger raked her nails down Pansy's back hard enough to draw blood during a few weeks of experimentation when they returned for that mandatory eighth year. But once she did, her entire world changed.

"Sexual gratification is rarely about atonement."

Those beautiful green eyes finally met her own again. "But…"

Whatever words he was trying to say died on his lips right then and there. Pansy drew a breath and placed her arm along the curve of his bicep, well-muscled from his time as an Auror. She wasn't certain if her desires matched his own, but it was clear he was struggling with whatever he was trying to come to terms with. "It's okay to like what you like, _Harry_."

The use of his first name was intentional and Pansy could see him relax, even if only infinitesimally. She needed to him to know that, despite their past, she wouldn't judge him – not here. Not in this world.

"I'm not sure what I like," he muttered. Pansy had an idea about what she _thought_ he might like and to be honest, she wouldn't mind getting her hands – or her mouth – on the Chosen One.

She placed two fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head with gentle pressure so his eyes met her own. The look in his eyes belayed his anxiety over having even approached her. He needed a bit of a delicate touch – the last thing she wanted to do was scare him away. He was at the precipice of something truly wonderful and Pansy wanted to show him her world. She wanted to take away his feelings of inadequacy and guide him to a place of confidence and connection. She knew that if he and Draco could learn to work together, the three of them could be explosive.

"Come have a drink with me and Draco – we're sort of a package deal, he and I. We can talk about what you've experienced so far and what you might like to try in the future." She smiled softly and ran her thumb along the curve of his jaw. "No pressure and no judgment. Just drinks and a bit of a chat."

The nod he gave her was all the consent she needed in that moment. When dropped her hand from his chin and slipped it into his palm, giving it a reassuring squeeze, Harry's shoulders squared and his posture changed.

This was going to be the start of something beautiful.


End file.
